The Path That Leads to Victory
by SerenityFalconNormandy
Summary: Written for the Dragon Age Reddit Weekly Writing Prompt: Scenes inspired by "Make a Man Out of You" from Mulan. Gwyn needs to train now that she has the knowledge of the Arcane Warriors.


"Alright. So we know you've got the knowledge of the Arcane Warriors from that… whatever that was, but that's not all you need." Alistair swung his practice sword with the skill and strength gained from years of practice. He flipped the wooden blade and handed it to Gwyneth. "So, let's get down to business. To defeat the darkspawn, I need to see what you can do."

The muscle memory given to her by the spirit in the phylactery took over, and she started moving through the forms, letting her body take over and do what felt right. Within minutes, she was red-faced, panting, and her arms were shaky from the weight of the practice sword. How could she use both a sword and a shield in robes, let alone plate, if she got winded this quickly?

Alistair gave her a sympathetic look from the log he was sitting on, cleaning the plates of his armor. "Right, yes. Looks like we've got our work cut out for us. You don't have the physical strength and endurance to match what you know in your head and muscles."

"What can we do?" Gwyn panted.

Alistair leaned back on his hands, "You're going to start wearing plate every day, first of all."

She groaned.

"I know, but it'll help you build up your stamina. We'll also practice your swordwork every night at camp to get your arm muscles used to it. If we're in combat, I'd prefer you stay back and cast spells until you're able to take Sten down."

"Why _Sten_?"

"He's been training the longest out of the three of us, and survived fighting darkspawn without being a Grey Warden."

"Fine." Gwyn huffed some straggling hairs out of her face.

"Right then, let's get you strapped into your armor, make sure it fits."

She let out another groan, sitting down and flopping back into the grass.

Alistair laughed, "If plate feels like too much right now, I'm sure my old splintmail can be rigged and strapped to fit you."

Sitting up on her elbows, Gwyn shot him a disbelieving eyebrow. "You have a good foot and at _least _fifty pounds on me."

"I am a _growing boy_," he shot back with a cheeky grin, then reached behind the log and pulled his helmet off the pile of dirty armor. He stood up and thunked it down on her head.

Gwyn let out a yelp as it bent her ears and the eye slits landed on her cheekbones, blinding her. She took a blind swing with the practice blade and shouted "Ha-HA!" when she got an answering yelp from it connecting with his shin.

* * *

Sten circled Gwyn, looking for an opening. Her arm was trembling from the strain of holding her shield up. She was on the verge of beating her best time sparring with the Qunari so far, and the need to prove herself was keeping her on her feet instead of crumpling to the ground and whimpering.

She was doing well, catching Sten's bone-crushing blows on the shield, and using her lower center of gravity to duck in and slash, before moving back into a defensive stance. Sten was using the opportunity to see where he was leaving himself open, rubbing a pigment powder over the blade of the training sword. Every hit left a little smear on his padded under-armor. He currently had four little red slashes on the armor, and she felt a small surge of pride that at least two would have been a disarming strike, one would have been fatal.

Gwyn knew she was leaving herself open due to not having the endurance to hold her shield up because of the aches running up and down her side. If Wynne wasn't with them, she knew there would be a giant bruise running from under her arm to her hip from Sten's strikes.

Sten only pulled his swings enough to ensure that the petite elf wouldn't be severely injured, and every time a blow connected, he would growl out, "_Vashedan_, our enemies won't go as easy on you!"

* * *

If Gwyn could sweat in the cold air of the Frostbacks, she would. Two days until they reached Orzammar's gates, she reminded herself as the chill prickled against her skin while Alistair, fully clad in his plate, waited for her attack.

Her own armor was Ironbark, lighter than his plate and perfect for her. It allowed her to dance around in the quick, slashing forms that the memories had taught. Gwyn was proud, though. She no longer felt like her lungs were going to explode from lack of air while she fought, even if she wore plate. In addition, her arms, while still relatively spindly, were getting some fine musculature.

Spellweaver sang in her grip, the gentle hum resonating with her magic. Darting forward, Gwyn used the blade to rip Alistair's sword from his own grasp. Sten grunted from the sidelines in approval.

Alistair grinned, straightening, "Good move, Gwynnie! I'm prou-OOF!"

Her buckler drove the air from his lungs as she lunged in, feeling the impact vibrate up her arm and through her shoulder. Alistair flew back, rolling ass over teakettle. Gwyn moved to stand over him, panting lightly.

"Didn't you tell me repeatedly not to drop my guard until I was sure _every _enemy had been taken care of?"

He rolled over onto his back with a wheeze, "My mistake. Good one."

* * *

Sten cornered Gwyn as Alistair sat on the sideline, Oghren next to him drinking a truly foul-smelling ale. Spellweaver came up to block the blow, and she felt a bit queasy seeing the shimmering outline of her arm. Being half-in and half-out of the Fade took some getting used to.

Alistair had his eyes locked on them. Sten was slowing down, his attacks coming further apart, and he was making mistakes. There was a small frisson of excitement building in Gwyn's stomach as she managed a lunging strike that opened up her chance to dance behind Sten, and out of the corner of their little sparring ring. He grunted, swinging around to face her.

Asala sang through the air, and Gwyn turned the strike with her shield. Sten's knee turned with the blow. Slashing out, she hit the back, and the giant man fell to his knee for the first time in all of their sparring matches, grunting and panting. Oghren bellowed, "You got 'im, Warden!"

Alistair jumped up with a shout of joy, arms in the air.

Gwyn held her hand out to help Sten stand. "Well fought, Sten."

"Well fought, _kadan._"

Alistair caught her around the waist and lifted her up, armor and all. "The Archdemon doesn't stand a _chance _against you after this!"

Gwyn laughed out loud, even as a knot of anxious fear formed in her stomach at the thought of facing the beast whose song became stronger every day.


End file.
